Boring Thomas
by Gavin Gunhold
Summary: [OneShot] Based on Thomas' Snowsuit by Robert Munsch. Thomas is all grown up, and like most adults, he can be borrring.


_A trade with Fen for Robert Munsch fic (mine is Thomas' Snowsuit, hers is The Paperbag Princess). Need I say I own nothing? I got the words: stacked salt gutter field (which I didn't use gasp) calmly. _

_o-o-o-o-o_

_o-o-o-o-o_

Thomas is a grown up. He spends his days at work and pays mountains of bills each month, right on time. In the winter he shovels snow instead of playing in it and salts the ground when it's icy so that his mother won't trip and fall when she comes to visit. Thomas' son thinks his dad is BORRRRING.

Thomas tells his son, "I'm not boring. I'm responsible."

"Borrring", his son replies. "If you weren't boring, you'd help me build a snowman."

"Maybe later", Thomas says, calmly. "The snowplow left a huge pile of snow at the bottom of the driveway. I have to clear out the gutter so we can get you to school tomorrow morning."

"Borrring", says Thomas' son. "If you weren't boring, you'd take me tobogganing."

Thomas notices that his son is stacking snowballs in easy-to-reach piles. He starts to get a little worried.

"If you help me shovel, we would finish faster", Thomas tries to distract his son.

"Borrring", says Thomas' son. "If you weren't boring, you wouldn't try and make me shovel."

"Shoveling isn't boring", Thomas says.

But Thomas' son isn't listening. "What you need is excitement. What you need is… a SNOWBALL FIGHT!" He lifts a snowball into each hand and gets ready to throw them.

"STOP!" cries Thomas.

Thomas' son stops mid-throw, and the snowball drops out of the air and splats on the ground at Thomas' feet.

"What was that for?" asks Thomas' son.

"You can't throw snowballs at me!" Thomas says. "I'm not properly dressed."

Thomas' son looks Thomas up. And then Thomas' son looks Thomas down.

"You're not wearing any snowpants!" Thomas' son proclaims.

Thomas sighs in relief.

"Come with me", Thomas' son orders. Thomas gets a bit worried again.

Thomas' son leads him into their house. He opens up the doors to the hall closet and pokes his nose inside. He holds up a pair of hot pink snowpants with "Ice Queen" written on the bum.

"Here", says Thomas' son. "Put these on."

"I can't wear those", says Thomas. "They're hot pink."

"Don't you like hot pink?" asks Thomas' son.

"They belong to your mother", says Thomas.

"She won't mind sharing", says Thomas' son.

"They're the wrong size", Thomas says, desperately.

Thomas' son frowns and lets go of the snowpants. "Okay", he says. "Where are _your_ snowpants?"

Thomas smiles with relief. "I don't have any snowpants."

"Come with me", Thomas' son orders. "We're going shopping."

Thomas and his son get in the car and roll down the driveway. Thomas winces when they go over the snow-bump at the bottom. Thomas' son looks smug.

_o-o-o-o-o_

At the snowsuit store, there are snowsuits of all shapes and sizes, colours and patterns. Thomas' son pulls the first one off the rack that he sees and holds it up for Thomas' inspection.

"Too stripy", says Thomas.

Thomas' son pulls the next one off the rack.

"Too bright", says Thomas

Thomas' son pulls the next one off the rack.

"Too… ", says Thomas.

"It's perfect!" says Thomas' son.

"Really?" asks Thomas. "Isn't there anything here in some nice, unobtrusive solid colour? Say, brown, for instance?"

"Borrring", says Thomas' son. He marches over to the check-out counter. "We'll take this one", he informs the clerk.

"Oooh, the Spidey snowsuit", says the clerk. "Very good choice, sir."

Thomas takes his credit card out of his wallet. "What's your return policy?" he asks.

"No returns", says the clerk, and swipes Thomas' credit card.

"Of course not", says Thomas.

"You have to wear it home", says Thomas' son.

_o-o-o-o-o_

As soon as the car bumps over the bottom of the driveway and pulls into park, Thomas' son leaps out and runs to his stack of snowballs. Thomas pats some snow into a ball and approaches cautiously.

Thomas's son has a snowball in each hand and he gets ready to throw them.

"STOP!" cries Thomas' son. He stops mid-throw, and the snowball drops out of the air and splats on the ground at Thomas' feet.

"Why did you call stop?" asks Thomas.

"Spiderman is a Good Guy", explains Thomas' son. "I can't throw snowballs at a Good Guy."

"Maybe I could be Spiderman's evil twin?" Thomas asks doubtfully.

Thomas' son considers the idea but shakes his head. "No", he says. "Spiderman doesn't have an evil twin. I think we should shovel out the end of the driveway so you can get to work in the morning."

Thomas' son marches past Thomas, picks up a shovel and gets to work. Thomas joins him a second later.

Thomas and his son dig in their shovels and heave the snow off to the side.

Dig.

Heave.

Dig.

Heave.

Dig.

"AIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" screams Thomas. "There's snow down my back!"

Thomas' son giggles. "Shovelling is borrring. I've decided I'm going to be a super-villain when I grow up."

Thomas is pelted with six more snowballs before his spidey-senses start alerting him to danger. After eight snowballs, the sides of Good and Misguided are pretty evenly matched. At fifty snowballs, the side of Good just barely manages to overcome the Misguided side, but at a heavy loss.

The driveway is once again covered in snowballs and the side of Good once again picks up its shovel to do some grunt work. Surprisingly, the Misguided side helps.

"Now that was _fun_", says Thomas' son.

"It wasn't boring", Thomas agrees.

_o-o-o-o-o_

_o-o-o-o-o_


End file.
